


Gifts

by PhoenixPhoether



Series: Impressions [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Drama, Family, Holidays, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixPhoether/pseuds/PhoenixPhoether
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmasy fic in which Harry finds the perfect gifts for Draco's parents and—just maybe—for Draco, too. Soft and romantic. Established H/D relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> I do not profit from any of this writing, and the characters and settings are not mine; they belong to J.K. Rowling, who wrote them better than I could.
> 
> This is the first story in a series of fics. It actually started with the idea for the longer prequel to this short work (which I will post when it's finished). My intent was to write a series of several ficlets with the same basic plot, only the pairing would be different (like an alternate ending). I intended to juxtapose the H/G fics with the H/D ones. Much to my surprise, the characters all stubbornly refused to cooperate. Apparently, they don't like to share--at least, not in that context.
> 
> The entire series was inspired by the work of Impressionist composer Claude Debussy. They are not songfics. They're meant to have the character and tone of Impressionism--capturing a moment or series of moments. The music for this part is "The Girl with the Flaxen Hair," from Preludes. You can hear it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yu4KObwynSc

 

**I**

“You asked to speak with me, Professor?”

Harry stood in the once-familiar Hogwarts Headmaster’s office, facing his former Head of House across her desk. She looked much older than he had remembered; her black hair was streaked with grey and she had more lines than previously. Harry was relived, however, to see that she still held the same intensity in her gaze. He decided some things never changed.

“How long have we known one another, Harry? Call me Minerva.”

“Erm…all right. Minerva.” He tested the way her name felt on his tongue; it was decidedly awkward. He resisted the urge to snigger like a twelve-year-old.

She remained unsmiling, but amusement flickered in her eyes. Harry wondered if the magic of the Headmaster’s office was somehow inherent, giving the occupant the ability to know more than what had been spoken aloud.

“How have you been? You’re nearly done with your training, I understand.”

“Yes. I finish next month, and Kingsley has already offered me a job.”

“As he should. So it’s gone well, then?”

“It has. Erm, Prof—Minerva, what did you want to see me about? I take it you didn’t invite me here to talk about my work.”

She smiled. “No, I didn’t. As a matter of fact, I wanted to show you something. As you were among those who helped with the work of rebuilding Hogwarts, I wanted you to be the first to see it.”

“See what?”

“Follow me.” She rose from behind her desk, stepping around to where Harry sat. He stood as well, following her out onto the stairs.

The Headmistress led Harry through the castle into an unfamiliar wing. There, she pushed open a broad oak door with a brass doorknob. When they entered, Harry let out a gasp. The inside of the room was far larger than one would be led to believe from the corridor. It was a long hall with a high ceiling hung with chandeliers. Along every wall except the one with the doorway there were portraits in gold, silver, bronze, and black frames. As Harry’s eyes focused, he realised what—or rather who—the portraits were.

“Ohhhh,” Harry breathed. His throat tightened and he had to blink rapidly.

Professor McGonagall smiled, laying her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You like it, then?”

“I do.” He swallowed thickly.

“Go ahead,” she said softly.

Nodding, Harry walked to the nearest portrait. His eyes burned as he stared into the well-loved face of another former professor. Just as he was about to move on to the next one, he paused, startled. He turned his head back to the portrait.

He was absolutely certain he had seen Remus Lupin _wink_.

Harry glanced over at Professor McGonagall—he still couldn’t call her Minerva, even in his own head—and saw that she was watching him. She wasn’t smiling, but there was definitely humour written all over her face. He was tempted to glare at her; why hadn’t she warned him that these were animated portraits?

Harry returned his attention to the portrait in front of him. “Erm, hello,” he said quietly.

“It’s good to see you again, Harry.”

“You—you too.”

While Harry tried to think of something else to say, a pink-haired witch popped into the painting. “Wotcher, Harry.”

“Tonks!” He grinned, and she returned his smile.

“How’s the baby?” Remus asked.

“Er, Teddy’s actually not really a baby anymore,” Harry admitted. “He just turned three in the spring.”

Remus and Tonks exchanged glances. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, and he meant it. “But now that I know you’re here, I’ll bring him round. Andromeda, too, but maybe not together. It might be hard for her.”

After a few more minutes, Harry moved on. Now that he was aware of the nature of the portraits, he was prepared to have several more similar conversations. There were a number of people he didn’t recognise, but he stopped to greet all of them. After all, they knew who he was, and many of them wanted the chance to speak with him. After a series of unfamiliar portraits, Harry stopped at another one he knew.

As he had done with Remus and Tonks, Harry had to brace himself against the wash of emotions when he found himself face-to-face with Fred Weasley. He needn’t have worried; as always, Fred was not one to remain serious.

“Harry! Mate, good to see you.” Fred had that look in his eye, the one that meant mischief. “Been keeping busy?”

Warily, Harry replied, “Yes…”

“Same here. It’s not bad, being a portrait. It’s a lot easier to torment the Fat Lady from in here, since I can get directly into her portrait. She hates it. And last week, I had the nuns on the third floor juggling the oranges from that painting by the kitchens.”

Before he knew it, Harry was laughing. He could easily imagine Fred stirring up trouble all over the castle. “You’re worse than Peeves, you know that?”

Fred laughed right along with him, but then turned a little wistful. “It’s not really the same without George.”

“He says the same thing about you.”

“So, Harry, did you make my mum happy and propose to Ginny?”

“So much for subtlety,” Harry muttered.

“What? I always wondered if you two would end up married with three kids.”

Harry sighed. “As a matter of fact, no.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “What? Why not?”

“Er.” Harry looked away, unsure how to answer.

“Harry? You okay?”

“Ah, just, erm, wondering how to put this. We—Ginny and I—aren’t together anymore.”

Fred looked like he wanted to reach through the painting to throttle Harry. Harry put his hands up as though to stop him, backing away slightly, though he knew a painting couldn’t actually hurt him.

“Did you hurt my sister?”

“It’s not like that. We just…it wasn’t going to work out. I…” He looked at the ceiling, the other walls, and the floor—anywhere but at Fred. Fred had been like a brother, but it had been hard enough telling the rest of the Weasleys why he and Ginny had parted. He took a deep breath. “I’m gay.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Fred’s painted eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. When he had sufficiently recovered, he laughed.

“What the hell is so funny?” Harry asked.

“Just that I wish I’d known that back when I was still alive.”

“Why, so you could tease me endlessly about it?” Harry was still mildly irritated that Fred was finding his sexuality so entertaining.

The smile slid off Fred’s face. “No,” he said, more softly than Harry had ever heard him speak. “I had the worst crush on you, you know. I was ragingly jealous of Ginny.”

Harry’s head shot up. “That’s what she said, too, but I thought she was joking.” He grinned. “I guess that means you won’t mind that George asked Angelina to marry him last week.”

“Holy shit! He didn’t!”

Harry looked round for Professor McGonagall, but she was engaged in conversation with another portrait and didn’t appear to have heard Fred’s expletive. Harry turned back to Fred, relieved. He chatted amiably with Fred for several more minutes before he bid him goodbye and promised to return.

Eventually, he made his way around the whole hall, stopping last at the portraits of his parents and Sirius. He spent the longest with them, wanting to be sure he left no details unspoken about the three years since he’d last seen them as conjured memories in the Forbidden Forest. By the time he was through recounting his life up to that point, they had all crowded into one portrait, and Remus and Tonks had joined them.

It felt good to talk; it was far easier to tell them about his life than he’d expected. When he reached the part about discovering his sexuality, figuring he might as well tell them, he saw Remus and Sirius exchange a look. He wondered what it meant and if somehow they had already guessed, the way Molly Weasley had when he’d told her. One day, he thought he might ask them what they were thinking. He didn’t explain about his long-term relationship, though he wasn’t sure whether it was the other portraits listening in or the fear that Professor McGonagall might return and overhear that stopped him.

Harry wasn’t sure how long he spent in the Hall of Portraits, but it must have been quite some time. Professor McGonagall, who had wisely left him alone when he finally found his parents, was at his side, beckoning him to accompany her back to her office. Reluctantly, Harry said his farewells to his parents, wiping his eyes on the edge of his sleeve before following her out.

Once back in the Headmistress’s office, Harry thanked her again for inviting him. She waved him off, saying, “Of course. You deserved to have the chance to see them before the Hall opens to the public. We would be honoured if you would join us for the start of term feast. We have invited all those who wish to see the portraits to a special event. After the Sorting, the students will join our guests in the Hall of Portraits.”

“I will be there,” Harry promised. “Professor, just a quick question. Do you know the artist who painted the portraits?”

“Of course. There were several, but I believe you know at least one of them.” She smiled. “He has a shop in Diagon Alley. Shall I write it down for you?”

“Yes, please.”

She passed him a piece of parchment with a name and an address on it. “Don’t be a stranger, Harry. You are welcome to visit any time.”

“I will, Professor. I will.”

 

**II**

Three months later, Harry found himself taking a long lunch break to run errands in Diagon Alley. An icy rain was falling. It was chillier than Harry had expected, even so late in November. Turning up his collar and pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, he braced himself against the stiff wind.

When most of his tasks were complete, he glanced round. He had perhaps forty minutes before he had to return to the office he shared with Ron at the Ministry. He was reluctant to go back, not wanting to explain what he was up to. It had been one thing informing his surrogate family why he didn’t want to marry Ginny; he was even more reluctant to tell them who he had been seeing. Not that he thought they would be angry, exactly, but he was certain they would be disappointed. Harry thought that might actually be worse. If he were honest, he had to admit that Ron was fairly likely to hex him—or at least demand that he be examined for signs that he was under the Imperius curse.

Glancing around, Harry spotted the shop he wanted. He crossed the street and ducked inside. It was brightly lit, the walls adorned with the beautiful work of the owner. Harry smiled. He was glad that his old friend had found work doing what he loved.

Approaching the unoccupied desk, Harry rang the tiny bell. From the back room he heard someone call, “Coming!”

Within a moment or two, Dean Thomas emerged from behind a heavy curtain. When he saw who had entered, he broke out in a wide grin. “Harry! How’ve you been, mate?”

Harry reached out to grasp Dean’s extended hand. “Good, good. And you?”

“Can’t complain. Business is good.”

Harry nodded. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in sooner. I wanted to tell you that I saw your work at Hogwarts, but you weren’t at the unveiling.”

“Nah. Couldn’t make it. I’m glad you liked them, though. I did most of the ones of the students.”

“And the ones of Remus and Tonks and Sirius, too, right?”

“Yeah. I wanted to be the one to do them.” He coughed a little. “Erm, I did the one of your parents, too.”

Harry just nodded. “That’s why I came in here. I want to commission you to do another painting.” He handed Dean a small piece of parchment.

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “I take it this is for George?”

“Yeah. Can you do it?”

“If I have permission to connect the magic with Hogwarts.”

“You do. I already spoke with Headmistress McGonagall. The spell is written at the bottom of the parchment.”

“When do you need it?”

“Before New Year’s.”

“I can have it done by then. Do you want me to have it sent, or are you coming round to fetch it?”

“I’ll stop in.”

“Excellent. I’ll start work on it as soon as I finish my current project. Can I do anything else for you?”

“Yes, actually. I need a favour.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I need a sketch. Can you do it for me while I wait? I’ll pay double whatever you usually charge.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “How soon do you need this, mate?”

“As soon as you can do it. I need to take it to someone.”

“All right. I can put my other project on hold for a sketch. Come in the back. You can describe it to me and I’ll draw it.”

“Sounds good.”

Harry followed Dean behind the curtain. Fifteen minutes later, he emerged with a perfect replica of what he had imagined. Calling out his thanks to Dean, he left the shop and headed for another one two buildings away. He only had four weeks to take care of everything before Christmas, and he needed it all to be perfect.

Once Harry had left the drawing with the proprietor of the second shop, he needed to leave Diagon Alley in search of a Muggle telephone. He had never bothered to install one at Number Twelve, Grimauld Place. There were few Muggles he would ever need to ring and even fewer who were interested in ringing him. On the rare occasion he might have the urge to contact anyone, he could easily find a public telephone.

After spending far more time than he had anticipated talking with the regulars in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was finally back out in Muggle London. He located a telephone and dialled the number he had written on an old piece of parchment. As the phone rang, he hoped that he was doing the right thing.

“Hello?” answered the voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello, Big D? It’s Harry.”

 

**III**

Christmas Day dawned cloudy but not actually snowing. Harry woke still feeling unsettled from the previous night’s conversation with Molly Weasely. He knew she was disappointed that he wasn’t spending Christmas with the family, and he understood why. It was the first time since the War that they hadn’t spent the day together, and after Fred, she was reluctant to let any of them out of her sight when there was a family gathering. Harry had promised repeatedly that he would join them for New Year’s and that he would finally bring round what Molly called ‘his young man’. Just how he was going to accomplish that was still a mystery, however. He didn’t relish the thought of restraining anyone from using a hex or two on his lover.

Harry stretched, listening hard. He could hear faint banging coming from the kitchen two floors below. He smiled, imagining that the person rummaging around down there was likely also muttering under his breath and grumbling about the lack of house-elves. Harry hadn’t been able to bring himself to replace Kreacher after he had passed away the previous year; besides, he knew Hermione was likely to have a conniption if he so much as thought about it.

He heard a muffled shout and chuckled; he _would_ have to pick the one man who liked to pretend he didn’t swear. Sighing, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. There was too much to do to waste time listening to the complaints. He threw on an old pair of pyjamas and descended to the kitchen.

Harry couldn’t help smiling at the sight of Draco Malfoy attempting to cook breakfast. He watched him struggle unsuccessfully to light the stove with his wand. Harry shook his head. Draco had never been any use in the kitchen; it was fortunate that Harry knew his way around. He stepped up behind Draco and wrapped his arms around his waist.

Startled, Draco nearly dropped the pan of eggs he was holding. Harry inspected them over Draco’s shoulder; at least he hadn’t left any shells in this time. He decided he was going to have to teach his boyfriend some of Molly’s spells. Attempting to do it by hand was truly ridiculous.

“Here, let me do it.” Harry reached for the pan.

“I’ve got it.”

Gently, Harry wrested the eggs from Draco. “It’s okay. I can show you how if you like.”

Draco sighed. “Not today.”

Harry nodded. He knew what the day meant to Draco. They were to go see his parents at the Manor, which was putting a strain on both of them. The elder Malfoys had no idea their son was gay, let alone that he was living with Harry. Harry had insisted that it was time they told their families, which meant Christmas with the Malfoys and New Year’s with the Weasleys would be rather tense. They couldn’t hide forever, though, and Ginny was growing tired of keeping their secret for them.

Without another word, Harry set the eggs cooking and got started on the rest of their breakfast. Draco hardly touched his food, shoving it around on his plate until Harry nearly asked him if he wanted to make a sculpture out of his eggs already. He thought he might strain his eyeballs from suppressing the desire to roll them.

Once they were dressed and ready to go, Harry said, “We have a stop to make on the way.”

“Whatever for?”

“I have gifts for your parents.”

Draco raised an elegant eyebrow. “I seriously doubt you know the first thing about buying gifts for my parents.”

Harry chuckled. “Give me more credit than that. I did my homework.”

“Oh, really?”

“Well, I may have had some help.”

Draco snorted. Even that sounded delicate and refined coming from him. “I’ll bet.”

Outside, Harry muttered a quick spell. A silver Muggle car appeared in front of the house.

“What is that?” Draco asked, pointing.

“It’s our transportation.”

“I’m not riding in that thing.”

“Yes, you are. Just get in. Relax, we’re not going to drive it. It’s a portkey.”

“To where, exactly?”

“To the Manor, of course. After we pick up one of the gifts.”

Harry got in and reached over, thrusting open the passenger side door. Reluctantly, Draco slid into the seat beside him. Mentally, Harry counted down until he felt the familiar tug behind his navel. He supposed that even if he lived longer than Nicholas Flammel, he would never get used to wizard travel of any sort other than flying. As far as he was concerned, everything else was horrible.

They landed with a soft thump outside a rather odd-looking house. Harry indicated that Draco should wait in the car; he was not anxious to explain Draco’s presence to the Lovegoods. He wound his way up the path and knocked on the door.

Luna answered and ushered him in. Glancing back at the car, Harry could see Draco’s face set in an expression that was a mix of irritation and curiosity. Turning back to Luna, Harry followed her to her room.

She handed him a large, blanket-covered cube. “Here you go,” she said, smiling.

“Thanks. I trust she was no trouble?”

“None at all. She’s very sweet. I hope the lady who receives her is pleased.”

“She will be. Thanks, Luna.”

After wishing Luna a Merry Christmas, Harry returned to the car. He set the cube in the back seat. There was a faint rustling and snuffling. Harry silenced it with a muttered charm.

“That had better not be a boggart.”

“It’s not. Hang on, I need to reset the portkey.”

Once again, Harry felt like he was being yanked by a long string attached to his navel. They landed about twenty feet from the manor; Harry was glad he hadn’t miscalculated. He heard Draco utter a mild swear next to him.

“Next time, we’re Apparating.”

Harry laughed. “At least you’re admitting there will be a next time.”

Draco just glared at him.

While Draco started toward the house, Harry tugged the gift out of the back seat. He followed Draco, quickening his pace to catch up.

Inside, they were greeted by a house elf. The elf showed them to the sitting-room, where Harry set the cube down in the corner. They sat in uncomfortable silence as they waited for the senior Malfoys to arrive. Harry fidgeted, and Draco nudged him to get him to stop. Harry couldn’t help it, however. All the cool confidence he’d had earlier was gone. He hadn’t been inside this house since the night he and the others had barely escaped, and the last time he had seen Draco’s parents had been at their trial. He was certain there was nothing for him to fear, as he had stood up as a witness for them, but he was still unsure how they would take to having him as a guest in their home.

When Harry saw Narcissa entering the room, he rose to his feet. He was determined to get this right, even if he didn’t have any idea how to behave properly under the circumstances. He noticed Lucius’ eyes widen fractionally when he saw Harry, then reduce to slits as he turned his gaze on his son. “This is your guest?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

There was no further greeting from Lucius, but Narcissa took Harry’s hands in her own. “Welcome,” she said. There was no genuine warmth in her voice, but she didn’t seem hostile, either. Harry took that as a good sign.

They arranged themselves on the furniture in the sitting-room, with Harry and Draco sitting separately. Harry decided that Draco was drawing this out unnecessarily and longed to just come out with it already. He knew from experience that his head-first approach wouldn’t work in this case, so he stuffed down his frustration and attempted to focus on making small talk.

Lucius studiously avoided looking at Harry, instead choosing to ask his son pointed questions about his work at the Ministry. To his credit, Draco answered all of them without any hint of the annoyance he’d been brewing all day. Harry felt oddly proud of him for that. When the official probing was over, Lucius finally turned his attention to Harry.

“You also work for the Ministry?”

“Yes. I’m an Auror.” He refrained from providing the information that he was only a junior in the department; Lucius likely already knew that.

“Indeed.”

Harry braced himself for an onslaught of questions, but Lucius didn’t get the chance to deliver. The house-elf was back, announcing the meal.

Dinner was awkward. Harry was uncertain what the expectations were, and he could feel his discomfort mounting. He managed to answer all of Lucius’ questions about his job, but he still wondered at what point one of Draco’s parents would simply ask them about the nature of their relationship. His fears turned out to be unfounded, however; that particular topic was never broached.

After the house elves had cleared the dishes, Narcissa suggested they return to the sitting-room to exchange gifts. Harry was glad to be the last one out of the room. It gave him the chance to wipe his sweating palms on his trousers without receiving odd looks from the elder Malfoys. Draco noticed, however, and, in a rare gesture of comfort, let his fingertips brush the back of Harry’s hand.

Once they were seated, Draco produced a pair of small packages from inside his dress robes. He handed them to his parents. Harry watched, wondering what one gave to one’s parents in these situations. The packages turned out to be jewelry from a pricey shop in Diagon Alley: cuff links for Lucius, a pendant for Narcissa. They thanked him graciously.

“Erm, I have gifts for you as well,” Harry said. Draco looked at him, and Harry was suddenly afraid he had said something wrong.

“That was quite unnecessary, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said. “You are our guest.”

He knew she was merely being polite. “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality,” he said.

She tipped her head, and he understood that to mean he should proceed.

“Will you accompany me outside?”

The Malfoys exchanged glances, but they agreed. They rose from their seats, and Narcissa called for a house elf to retrieve their cloaks. Once bundled against the cold, they left the house. Harry led them to the car.

“The automobile is for you, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry said. He saw Lucius’ eyes grow large as he stared at the vehicle. Harry continued, “It’s a Rolls-Royce Co—”

“Yes, I know, Mr. Potter. It’s a Corniche.” He sighed, running his hand over the cool, silver metal. “It’s…spectacular.” He paused, then said, “This is your gift?”

Outwardly, Harry only nodded. Inside, however, he was nearly bursting. He saw the gleam in Lucius’ eye—hunger for an opportunity to do more than just look. Harry took a chance.

“Why don’t you and Draco take it out for a drive?” he suggested. “I will take Mrs. Malfoy inside to open her gift.”

Draco glanced at Harry, wearing a slightly panicked expression. Harry indicated that he should go ahead, and Draco assented. Harry and Narcissa walked toward the house to the sound of Lucius’ soft exclamations of rapture.

Once they had returned to the sitting-room, Harry removed the sleep charm he had cast on the object back at Luna’s house. The muffled scuffling sounds returned, and Narcissa looked sideways at Harry but said nothing as he pulled the box into the centre of the room.

Harry pulled off the blanket to reveal a dog-crate. Inside, a small, white Crup was peering around sleepily. Harry lifted the latch on the crate, and the Crup sniffed its way out. When he extended his hand to her, she put her cool, wet nose against his fingertips. He risked a glance at Narcissa.

She sat on her plush chair, her back straight and her hands folded in her lap. Nevertheless, Harry saw through the formal exterior to the surprise and pleasure beneath the surface; her eyes were shining with pure, unadulterated joy.

“She’s a purebred Crup, raised and trained by Rolf Scamander,” he told her.

“Not the son of the naturalist?”

“Grandson, actually. She’s six years old, and she’s fully housebroken. Her name’s Juno.”

“Juno,” Narcissa repeated. “Queen of the gods. I like it.” She reached down, and Juno approached her cautiously. Within moments, the Crup was eagerly wagging her forked tail and nuzzling Narcissa.

Narcissa beckoned for a house-elf, requesting that tea be brought to them. While they waited, Harry and Narcissa did not speak, but the silence didn’t feel tense this time. Harry relaxed as he watched Narcissa fawn over Juno. He would have to remember to send an owl to Luna to thank her and her fiance for their help.

When the tea arrived, Narcissa put down a small dish for Juno. “The house-elves do think of everything,” she remarked. She poured out the tea into silver cups and offered Harry the plate of scones. He accepted one and nibbled on it absently while he waited for her to say what was on her mind.

“Your relationship with my son,” she began.

Harry sat up straighter and set down the scone. “Yes, Mrs. Malfoy?”

“I take it you are more than friends.”

“Yes.”

She nodded, closing her eyes briefly. “I had a feeling he was going to bring a lover with him today, although I admit my surprise that it’s you.”

“I was rather surprised myself.”

She laughed. “I can imagine. Someday, perhaps you will share the story with me. For now, I think it’s enough that you are here. This was your idea, correct?”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t want to tell us. I knew, of course. He hadn’t shown any interest in any of the young women whom we’ve suggested, and it didn’t appear to be because they were substandard. Lucius doesn’t like to admit it, but he knows I’m right.” She glanced out the window, though there was nothing to see. “I suspect that he will not have a choice after he returns in that automobile.” She smiled. “That was a lovely gift, you know. For a pureblood, he is strangely fascinated with Muggle transportation.”

It was Harry’s turn to laugh. “I suspected as much. I think he will prefer this version to the Muggle variety, though. I had some enhancements made.”

Narcissa arched her eyebrow in exactly the same manner as her son. “I’m sure he will appreciate that.”

They sipped their tea quietly for a few minutes. Harry was grateful that the terrifying task of informing Draco’s parents was over. Still, he wondered if that was all. Draco had given him the impression that his parents would not approve of anything less than a marriage that resulted in passing on the family name.

After a time, Narcissa said, “You are worried that we would try to stand in your way.”

“I—”

“That will not be a problem. I will not school you on proper pureblood marriages. The Malfoy line is littered with half-bloods, whatever my husband may say. You come from a very old family, at least on your father’s side, and that will make up for it. As for producing heirs, I have nothing to say on the matter. You and I are both well aware that there are…ways to accomplish that. I’m certain Lucius is delivering that lecture to Draco even as we speak.”

“So we have your blessing?”

“Not so fast, Mr. Potter. I want to be certain that my son will be well-cared for.”

“If you mean money, Mrs. Malfoy—”

She shook her head. “Not merely money, no. Can you provide him with the lifestyle to which he is accustomed?”

Harry stared at the cup in his hand. It sounded as if Narcissa were treating her son like some kind of trophy. He felt anger beginning to take hold around the edges and had to breathe deeply before he could continue. He looked up and his eyes met Narcissa’s.

“No,” he said.

“No?”

“If you mean, can I pamper him and give him a grand manor and allow him to do whatever he likes at my expense, then no.”

“I see.”

“But if you mean, can I make him feel safe and content and loved, then yes. I can do that.”

She held Harry’s gaze. “You love him?”

Without hesitation, Harry said, “Yes. With everything I am.”

“Then that is all I can ask. You do indeed have my blessing, Mr. Potter.”

Emboldened by her approval, Harry said, “You can call me Harry.”

She smiled at him then, and it struck Harry how much Draco was like his mother—snobbish and proud, but hiding a radiant warmth underneath the aloof exterior.

“Harry it is, then.”

Harry was just setting his teacup back on the saucer when Draco and Lucius reappeared in the sitting room. Lucius looked as though he had just been given the keys to Hogwarts itself; Harry was certain he had never seen the man look so gleeful. Draco, on the other hand, wore an entirely different expression. His eyes were wild and he was somewhat windblown.

“Marvellous, Mr. Potter. Simply marvellous!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Lucius poured himself a cup of tea and offered one to his son. Draco took it, his hands shaking slightly. Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye; Draco was glaring back. Harry had to suppress a snigger.

“Drove it with the top down, then?” Harry asked.

“Of course. Although, in future, I may reserve that for warmer weather.”

The mood was considerably lighter than it had been when Harry and Draco had arrived. The sun had set, and it was at last time for them to bid their goodbyes. As they were leaving, Narcissa pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek and gave his hand a light squeeze. Lucius shook his hand warmly this time and extended an invitation to return for a ride in the Corniche, for which Harry thanked him without making any promises.

On their way to a place where they could safely Apparate, Draco said, “Where on Earth did you get that bloody beast?”

Harry laughed, wondering just how fast Lucius had been driving. “My cousin works for the company, and I happen to know someone who is quite good at making adjustments to Muggle vehicles.”

“I can’t decide whether I think you’re brilliant or completely insane.”

“Probably a bit of both,” Harry acknowledged, leaning up to steal a kiss.

 

**IV**

By the time they returned to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, they were in a better mood than the one in which they had gone out. Nevertheless, the day had left its mark on them, and the lightness of their last moment at the Manor had passed. Harry was drained from holding it together for both their sakes, and he longed to unburden himself from the heavy tension. He had an overwhelming urge to feel connected to the man beside him, and he sensed Draco was feeling much the same. Standing on the stoop, Harry placed his hand tentatively on Draco’s shoulder; Draco reached back and tugged him inside.

They had barely entered the house when Harry found himself shoved roughly against the door and kissed with an intensity only matched by the day they’d had. After several minutes of this, Draco let him go long enough to guide him to the bedroom. Harry was well aware of what Draco needed in that moment, and he wanted it, too. They tumbled into each other, dragging at clothing and working their way eagerly to the bed. Their lovemaking was a kaleidoscope of relief, desire, and need, full of the unexpressed emotions spilling over from the afternoon’s events. When at last Draco gave a final exaltation, Harry understood that he was pouring out more than his physical release, pulling Harry over the brink with him.

They clung to each other, breathing hard. Harry knew Draco would not cry, though the raw, shaky breaths he took were close to sobs. Harry held his lover tightly, tracing small circles on Draco’s back and whispering, “It’s okay,” over and over. At last, Draco let go of Harry and rolled off of him. He laid his head on Harry’s chest and drew the covers over them both.

As they lay there drifting off in the moonlight streaming through the window, Harry suddenly remembered something. He propped himself up on his elbows, causing Draco to slip from his position.

“Umph.”

“I just realised,” Harry said.

Draco made a disgruntled noise. “What?”

“I never gave you your Christmas present.” He sat fully up, and Draco flopped over to the other side of the bed, flinging his arm over his eyes and groaning.

“Shut up. I think you’ll like this.” Harry reached into the nightstand and produced a small, velvet box from the same expensive jeweller as Draco’s gifts to his parents.

Draco uncovered his face and rolled to his side. His eyes were fixed on the box. Hesitantly, he reached out for it, but Harry drew his hand away. Draco frowned; Harry just grinned.

“Come here,” Harry said, and Draco drew closer. Slowly, Harry opened the box. Nestled inside was a ring made by two pewter snakes entwined, each biting the tail of the other. One of them had brilliant, red rubies for eyes; the other snake’s eyes were a beautiful milky, translucent stone. Draco gasped when he saw it. He lifted his eyes to meet Harry’s.

“It’s our birthstones,” Harry said to break the silence, though he knew Draco recognised the gems. He continued. “I want—I want to ask you something.”

“All right.”

“I—that is, we—have your mother’s blessing. Your father’s too?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then…will you—will you marry me?”

Harry held his breath. Draco was shaking, and Harry didn’t know what that meant. He waited.

“Yes. Merlin, yes,” Draco breathed at last.

Harry took the ring out of the box and slid it onto Draco’s finger. It fit perfectly. Dropping the box among the covers, Harry leaned forward to kiss Draco. Suddenly, he couldn’t hold back at all. He let out everything that had been pent up inside him from the moment he woke that morning. He was laughing—and crying—and kissing Draco on every part of him that he could easily reach from their awkward angle. Draco, for his part, was doing the same right back.

At last, sated and with the edge taken off his emotions, Harry lay back with his arms loosely about Draco, content to simply lie there. Draco lifted his hand so that the ring gleamed in the moonlight.

“It’s stunning.,” he whispered. “Whatever other flaws you have, you do have exquisite taste.”

Harry elbowed him, but he knew what those words really meant. “I had it made especially for you, drawn from something I imagined.”

“Why two snakes?”

“For you, of course. Because you were once represented by the snake and because after the war, you were the first person I told that I could still speak with them The snake and the snake-charmer.”

Harry felt a slight shift and was sure Draco was smirking into his chest; he tightened his hold ever so slightly.

“I love you. I wanted you to know that.”

“I do know it. And…I love you, too.”

As they were settling back down, Harry heard Draco mumble, “Does this make it easier or harder to tell your people?”

“Let’s worry about that next week.”

With that, they drifted off into a contented sleep.


End file.
